Troll!
by MandyinKC
Summary: Hogwarts Quidditch season is set to kick off when an unexpected turn of events twists a day of fun and sport into one of life-threatening disaster.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Long time, no see! Troll! is a completely random idea that just had to be committed to paper. There will be four chapters, posted each Tuesday for the next month.

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta, BurgundyHope.

A/N 3: This story is dedicated to mydearlizzy who wondered when I'd have something new to post. Hope it doesn't disappoint.

Disclaimer: With a few exception, the world and characters belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Troll!

It began as any other Saturday at Hogwarts. Gryffindor were scheduled to play their first match. It was a young team, their Captain only a fourth year, but a lot was expected of him. He was Oliver Wood's son, after all. Of course, they were playing Hufflepuff, the previous year's Quidditch Cup champions, whose mountainous Keeper was Oliver Wood's nephew. Needless to say, the whole school was looking forward to this show down, but nobody more than first year Roxanne Weasley.

It was an ungodly hour—six a.m. and on a weekend—but Roxy had been waiting in the common room for fifteen minutes already. She'd grown up in and out of the Wood's family home, and there were two things she knew for sure: 1) Quidditch was everything at Red's Wood and 2) they started the day at sunrise. So there she was, dressed and perched on the arm of the sofa, when Bobby Wood appeared from the boy's side. He took one look at her and scowled.

"Morning," she chirped.

"The match isn't for another six hours," Bobby reminded her.

"You're up."

"It's my team, isn't it?" he replied, scratching his chest. "And you've got another year before you're on it."

Bobby was a git. As far as Roxy was concerned, most boys were. She thought it over and amended her opinion—_all_ boys were gits. She ought to know. She had loads of experience with their species with a little brother at home and a hoard of cousins, and now there were all the boys in her year. Gits, every last one. However, as big a git as Bobby was—and he was the absolute biggest—he all but promised her a spot on next year's team. They'd played Quidditch together all their lives. He knew what she could do on the pitch, and it was a lot.

"I won't be under foot," Roxy said and hopped off the arm the sofa. "Think of me as the team mascot."

Scowling, Bobby peered up the darkened stairwell, probably for his younger brother who was about to make his Hogwarts debut. Rory played right Chaser and Bobby was center. If it weren't for the stupid rule about first years playing Quidditch, Roxy would be left Chaser.

"Go back to bed," Bobby said at last.

Roxy crossed her arms, pursing her lips. She was not going back to bed.

They heard Rory before they saw him. His feet thundered down the steps without any concern for the other boys asleep in the dormitories. Rory was like that. Not inconsiderate exactly, just an idiot. Git.

"You're going to wake the whole House," Bobby hissed.

"It's Quidditch," Rory exclaimed, his dark hair standing on end. "Who can sleep?"

oOo

"Mm. Come back to bed, love."

Adrian Pucey, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, cracked open his eyes in the dim light to catch his new wife's silhouette bustling around the bedroom. Judging by the shapelessness of her otherwise spectacular figure, she was already dressed in her work robes. For some reason, the yards of crimson cloth and starched, white apron always got his blood humming.

"Can't." Alicia popped over to his side of the bed, planting a quick kiss on his lips. "It's Quidditch today and that means new patients."

Adrian tried to catch her around the waist, but missed. "I'll make it worth your time."

Alicia disappeared into the loo, calling over her shoulder, "The dog needs to go out."

The ridiculously named Ralph leapt onto the mattress, wagging his stubby tale and whinging. In the first blush of love, Adrian allowed Alicia to name the black and tan cocker spaniel puppy. He would need to be more clear-eyed when it came time to name their child. Ralph padded over, standing on Adrian's chest. Despite himself, Adrian scratched Ralph behind the ears. The spaniel had abysmal manners, and Adrian put the blame for that at Alicia's feet, as well. For a city girl who didn't particularly like dogs, Adrian had found her cuddling Ralph in their bed nearly every night. Pushing Ralph aside, Adrian threw back the blankets. So much for a lie in.

"Down." Adrian pointed at the ground, but Ralph cocked his head to one side and remained on the mattress. Rolling his eyes, Adrian lifted the spaniel off the bed and got a tongue bath. "It's a good thing you're cute because you're certainly not smart."

When Adrian set the dog on the floor, Ralph went straight into the loo.

"Adrian!"

He rushed in to find Alicia kneeling before the toilet and fending off Ralph. His entire body wriggled as he tried to sidle up against Alicia. She kept pushing him back, her face a bit green around the nostrils and mouth.

"Love…."

"M'fine." She gripped the toilet edge with both hands. The cocker spaniel budged up against Alicia's body and whimpered. "Just take him out."

Adrian gripped Ralph's collar. "Are you sure I can't do anything?"

She shook her head before dry heaving.

oOo

The Care of Magical Creatures professor was also looking forward to a lie in next to a warm body. Her arrival on his doorstep the previous night had been an unexpected, but very welcome, surprise. Whatever was between them had no name, and they weren't broadcasting it. In fact, he hadn't expected her to still be around in August when he returned from Romania. Not after all the noise she'd made about them being "two ships passing in the night" and it being "nothing serious" and for him not to "get attached."

"Charlie." A small hand pushed at his chest, and he grunted. "Wake up, Chuck, someone's at the door."

"Dreaming," he muttered, wrapping his arm around her middle and pulling her close. "Not even light out."

"Charlie…."

The pounding invaded Charlie's consciousness, and he groaned. Who the hell was pounding on his door at—he squinted at his alarm clock—a quarter after bloody six in the morning on a Saturday? But the list was not short, and he didn't welcome the many possibilities. There was Bill, or even Percy, and while both would take the mickey, Charlie could count on their discretion. However, it could be Mum and there was no way Charlie was ready for her to meet Lavender, especially not like this. Or, and the thought propelled him out of bed, it could be his son. Pax might be fifteen now, but Charlie had a strict policy of keeping his love life (shambolic as it was) separate from his kid.

Charlie pulled on the trousers he'd discarded with such haste the previous evening and snagged his shirt from the floor. "Don't move an inch," he instructed Lavender, kissing her full lips.

"Be quick. I'm getting cold."

Charlie's bare feet slapped against the icy floorboards, driving away the last vestiges of sleep from his brain. The three-room cottage was positioned on Hogwarts' grounds between the castle and Hagrid's hut. It wasn't much, but Charlie's place on the dragon reserve hadn't been much either. The pounding started again before Charlie made it as far as the kitchen table.

Yanking the door open, chill air slapped Charlie in the face. "Hagrid?"

"Sorry to wake ya." Mist swirled around the half-giant's ankles as he clutched hands the size of dustbin lids together.

"What is it?"

"Trouble, I think."

_It had better be to pull me out of bed at this hour._ But Charlie kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he stepped out of the cottage and closed the door behind him. Sticking his hands under his armpits, he regarded his old friend.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Mountain troll trouble. I was in the Forrest, ya see, and the centaurs are in a right fit. Seems something's uprooted trees from the mountain, through the forest, and…and there's footprints."

"Leading where?"

Hagrid looked towards the castle.

"I'll get my boots on…."

There hadn't been a mountain troll sighting near Hogwarts since the nineties. In fact, it was Charlie's youngest brother who felled the last one, and it had been a plant by a professor working for Voldemort. The Ministry of Magic was supposed to keep the mountains surrounding Hogwarts clear of trolls, considering the risk they posed to the general population and students in particular. Charlie reckoned his tax money had gone to waste.

"We might have a situation." Charlie sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled on socks.

Lavender sat up, the sheet sliding to her waist, and pushed her honey gold hair off her shoulders. "Not your mum, is it?"

"Only slightly less alarming—suspected mountain troll on the loose."

"Oh?" She smirked. "Is that all?"

As much as Charlie would love to find Lavender still warm and willing in his bed after this mess was cleared up, he knew he couldn't risk it. If—and it was a big if—there was a mountain troll, the outer buildings would be at particular risk. Hogwarts' magically reinforced walls could take a lot of abuse, but the cottage would be demolished in one good swipe of a troll's club.

"Listen," Charlie said. He set his boot on the floor so he could wrap his arms around Lavender, kissing the scars on her neck. "I'm going to be awhile, and it's not safe. Go home."

Lavender's fingernails scraped down his back through the thin cotton of his shirt. "I was looking forward to…breakfast."

"I'll come around yours when this is over. We can do…dinner."

"We'll see." She gave him a coy smile that could mean anything, but Charlie hoped it meant he could expect her for dinner. "Go play hero."

"It won't come to that." Every part of Charlie wanted to crawl back in bed with Lavender, but he forced his arms way from those tempting curves and finished dressing.

oOo

"'Morning, professor."

The Gryffindor Quidditch team were streaming out the castle doors as Adrian led Ralph back inside. The elder Mr. Wood led the way, his face set in stern lines, ready for battle. The younger Mr. Wood was in a pushing contest with Miss Roxanne Weasley, one of the Weasley Three who were sorted in September. Their Seeker, Pax Weasley, was yawning in the rear.

"Up early, aren't you?" Adrian said. He was still in his dressing gown, which was no match for the morning's autumn chill. Twice he'd lost sight of Ralph in the thick fog.

"It's Quidditch," replied Rory Wood, and the rest of the team groaned. They were not as enthusiastic about early morning, pre-game warm ups as the Wood boys.

"Good luck," Adrian called.

He meant it. Slytherin's team might be considered good in any other year, but they were going to need numbers on their side if they hoped to compete with Hufflepuff for the Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor needed to defeat Hufflepuff today, and Slytherin needed to defeat Gryffindor in the spring. In all honesty, Adrian knew Hufflepuff would roll into first place without much competition.

The smell of ham wafted from the Great Hall. Not many students were inside yet. Even the professors were slow to get around on such a cold morning. However, Alicia strode down the corridor—now wearing the pristine cap that covered her sensible chignon—looking less peaked.

"Feeling better?" He caught her by the elbow, bending to kiss her.

"Yes." Her hand fluttered over her stomach. "I do wish Hortensia would finish that vat of Ginger Up. I could make it myself if she weren't so territorial about her still room."

"Well," Adrian said, his lips twitching, "after the last time we were brewing a potion—"

Alicia covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't say it."

Laughing, he kissed her fingers. "I'll get dressed and join you for breakfast."

The front door opened again, letting in a blast of cold air. Charlie and Hagrid marched up the Grand Staircase two steps at a time. Ralph barked and plopped his rear onto Alicia's feet.

"What's that about, do you suppose?" Adrian asked.

"I don't know." Alicia trailed her fingers over his jaw. "Dress. I'll wait for you before eating."

oOo

Hogwarts Headmistress had never been one for a cozy lie in. A family trait, she thought, certainly her parents had never lingered in bed when there was work to be done. However, as Minerva aged, the tendency to rise before the sun seemed to intensify. This morning, for instance, she woke at half past four. To compensate for this unfortunate habit, she found herself dozing off after lunch. It was humiliating. Minerva McGonagall did not take naps.

She poured herself another cup of tea. One did not take breakfast before dawn, which meant she had hours upon hours to while away as the rest of the castle slumbered. She would prefer to read the _Daily Prophet_, but could not as it was not delivered until seven o'clock. Instead, Minerva most often found herself in her office, drinking cup after cup of tea and doing paperwork.

Minerva sighed. Old age was a tedious business.

The scrape of metal against stone alerted Minerva of impending visitors. She straightened her already rigid spine and held her quill over the stack of parchment on the desk, waiting. Sometimes Filius would join her for morning tea, old age wreaking havoc with his slumber as well. However, he usually sent an owl in advance of his appearance.

"Professor?" Hagrid, wrapped in moleskin and cold air, huffed and puffed into Minerva's office.

Charlie Weasley stepped out from behind the half-giant, a frown carved into his face. "We've trouble."

Minerva did not so much as blink at his blunt statement. She had become accustomed to his direct manner ages ago. Steepling her fingers, Minerva inclined her head towards the chairs before her desk. "What kind of trouble?"

"There's evidence a mountain troll has wandered onto the grounds." Charlie gripped the back of the chair.

"Where is it?"

"Don't know," Hagrid said. "Tracks all over the place, but not seen hide nor hair of it."

"How, exactly, do you miss a mountain troll? They're twelve feet tall for goodness' sake."

"And none too bright," Charlie agreed. "We didn't take the time to do a thorough search. I figured we should tell you sooner rather than later in order to safeguard the students."

Minerva nodded. "Yes, yes, you are absolutely correct."

A mountain troll! There hadn't been a sighting of one of those since Potter was a student. Well, it was not as if the blasted thing was in the ladies' this time so there was that, but trolls were dangerous. They needed to act in order to protect the children. She pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, scribbled a note, and duplicated it thirteen times. Waving her wand, the sheets folded themselves into airplanes and zoomed over Charlie's head and around Hagrid, down the stairwell.

"I've summoned the staff," Minerva said.

oOo

"Remind us again why we're up before the sun, Wood," shouted Valentina Hornsby, sixth year Beater.

"You want to win, don't you?" Bobby replied. The team trailed behind him, grumbling. He'd known his early morning practice schedule would be unpopular, but he had enough determination for the lot of them. "Hufflepuff's our toughest opponent."

The sky was steel gray, the fog so thick it was almost solid. The gates of the Quidditch pitch were a smudge in the distance. Bobby couldn't decide if he hoped the fog would burn away before tip off, or not. On one hand, the limited visibility would make for a sloppy game, and he wasn't sure his team had the cohesion to overcome that. On the other hand, Hufflepuff would be hindered by the same factors, and Campbell, Hufflepuff's Keeper and Bobby's cousin, was night blind. Bobby and Rory could score on Campbell all day long in conditions like this. Besides, if Pax was on his game he was the best Seeker at Hogwarts. But that was a big _if_. As far as Bobby could tell, Pax was lackadaisical about life in general, and Quidditch in particular.

"But you know their Keeper better than anyone, right?" Melinda Tuttle slipped her arm through Bobby's and batted her eyes at him. She was in his year and the best potential Chaser at try-outs, but Bobby was beginning to regret picking her for the team. Molly Weasley had warned him about Melinda's crush.

Bobby hated it when Mol was right.

"Aye, that's true," Bobby said. Campbell was more of a brother than a cousin. "But he also knows everything there is to know about me and Rory."

"He doesn't know me."

"He doesn't need to," Roxy muttered on his other side.

Melinda shot Roxy a nasty glare. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

Some mascot, Bobby was pretty sure taking the mickey out of the team's weakest link wasn't in the job description. Roxy's innocent grin could use a bit of work, but at least she'd distracted Melinda long enough for Bobby to extract himself from her grasp. This was far from Bobby's first match, or even his first time playing on the opposite House team from Campbell, but Bobby couldn't remember ever feeling as nervous as he was at that very moment. Mum called this feeling "butterflies in the stomach," but nothing as quaint or harmless as butterflies could describe the churning in his gut. It was more like a pack of Nundus. Bobby was the youngest team Captain for the Gryffindor side since his own dad. There was a lot to live up to, and there were moments when he second-guessed all his choices. They weren't a team yet, not really, and Bobby wasn't sure what to do about it. He wanted to be his own man, but maybe he needed a wee bit of advice.

The gates were mere feet away. Bobby wasn't going to walk his doubts onto the pitch. He'd spent hours honing his teammates' skills, drilling them on plays he'd created, and working up a game plan. He'd done the best he could and now it was time to—

"Oof."

He was arse over elbow in a ditch. Melinda squealed his name. Rory and Roxy were bent double laughing at him. Sitting up, Bobby brushed dirt off his kit and peered around. There shouldn't be a ditch two feet away from the Quidditch pitch. Bobby leapt to his feet, scanning the area, but the fog made the world nothing but shadow. He scrambled out of the ditch. It must be three feet long and just as wide. Five round impressions dotted the widest part.

"Pax," Bobby called.

The tall, wiry, black-haired boy pushed through the Beaters. Pax Weasley was keen on magical creatures and not bad at Defense. "Cap?"

"What does that look like to you?" Bobby took his wand out and pointed at the ditch.

The two lads stood side-by-side, surveying the crater.

"A footprint?"

Pax's answer sounded more like question, but it confirmed Bobby's suspicions. He'd done all his Defense Against the Dark Arts reading for the year, he knew there weren't many creatures large enough to make ditches like this.

"Giants?" Bobby whispered.

Pax shook his head. "In Scotland? No way."

"What do you think?"

"I think we should go back to the castle," Pax said in a low voice only Bobby could hear.

"There's not a lot of cover between here and there," Bobby replied. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention.

oOo

"A mountain troll?" Neville blurted.

"I thought we were done with this kind of nonsense after Potter graduated," Fillius said.

The other professors snickered, fidgeting in their spots, but Minerva's lips nearly disappeared. Alicia's hands clenched over her stomach. She was thirteen again, flanked on either side by Angelina and Katie, marching back to the Gryffindor common room. She could almost feel the squeeze of their hands around hers and the giddy smiles they'd shared. The prospect of a mountain troll in the ladies' was equal parts exciting and terrifying.

Glancing at Adrian, terror washed through Alicia.

Adrian's polite mask was in place, but the corners of his mouth were tight. Mountain trolls were dangerous, dull creatures. For a moment, Alicia's mind flashed back almost fifteen years to the Battle of Hogwarts. She saw herself flying figure eights between the legs of giants, Angelina flying the opposite route, trying to bring the monsters down. A troll wasn't as big as a giant, but they were every bit as destructive. Adrian's eyes caught Alicia's, and he tried to smile for her.

"The students must be confined to their common rooms," Minerva said. "Professor Hampstead, do be so good as to see to the Slytherins for Professor Pucey. Adrian, I want extra wards placed around the castle."

"Of course," Adrian replied. He placed a hand in the small of Alicia's back.

Minerva nodded. "And Madam Spinnet-Pucey, I trust you'll be prepared for any casualties. I've sent for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, with any luck they'll arrive with haste and subdue the troll without incident, but we must stand ready."

Alicia nodded and attempted a smile. "Well, I was planning for concussions and broken bones already, what's a few more?"

"The Quidditch match will have to be cancelled," Minerva added.

Neville groaned. "Would anyone like to volunteer to give the Wood boys that bit of bad news?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Adrian muttered. His eyes snapped to Neville's face. "I saw the Gryffindor team headed for the pitch earlier."

Neville swore and pushed out of his chair.

"I'll fetch them." Charlie was already halfway to the door, but froze when a bellow echoed through the room.

Silence smothered Minerva's office, everyone's eyes traveling to the window. The roar had come from outside, muffled by distance and stone walls, but audible all the same. Alicia took a step towards the window, breath caught in her throat—Katie's children were out there. The room shook and new cries rent the air.

Alicia stumbled. Her fingers scrabbled for the back of the chair and missed. Strong hands caught her around the waist, keeping her from falling. Alicia's heart slammed against her sternum as she was hauled against her husband's chest, Adrian's familiar piney scent wrapping around her. She gripped his hands still spanning her middle. Behind her eyelids Bobby and Rory's broken bodies faded into Adrian's lifeless stare. They'd been married a short time…She'd already lost her entire family in the war…

"I won't take any unnecessary risks," Adrian said in her ear.

Alicia crushed his hands.

"I'm not going anywhere." He kissed her cheek. "Now, you've work to do and so do I."

"Go." Alicia took a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on all the little details around her. Adrian's hands slipped from her body. Charlie, Hagrid, and Neville were already rushing out the door. Minerva had her head in the Floo, demanding to speak with the person in charge. Alicia allowed herself one last glance at Adrian's back as he ran to catch up with Charlie before shutting her mind to those worries. Adrian was quite correct—she did have work to do.

oOo

"But why are we going back?" Roxy buzzed around Bobby's elbow.

"Shut it, Rox," Pax said. He grabbed a handful of her robes and dragged her along behind him.

"Oi!" she screeched, smacking at her cousin's hand. "Let go."

Bobby's eyes scanned the faces of his teammates, doing a mental head count. They weren't even halfway between the pitch and the castle yet. Maybe they should have retrieved their broomsticks from the changing rooms first. Aye, it would have wasted a few moments, but they could have made up time in the air. He swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat. He should have told the team why it was urgent to get back to the castle, instead of giving a curt order.

"_Rooooaaarrr__!"_

The team froze.

"What the—"

The stench came first—like rotten eggs in the sun—followed by a massive, gray lump of a figure. The troll, a loincloth covering its bits, must have been twelve feet high and wide as a house. It let out another bellow, raising a club the size of an oak over its head.

Had it seen them? The fog was still thick, and according to the textbooks mountain trolls had poor eyesight. There was a chance they could use the mist to hide in. On the other hand, they had no cover. Even if Bobby cast a shield over the team, they were vulnerable.

The troll slammed his club against the ground, earth and grass flying.

Melinda screamed.

"Shut it!" Pax hissed. He let go of Roxy to slap a hand over Melinda's mouth.

The troll wheeled around, its club slashing through the air, and bellowed again.

"Run!" Bobby ordered. "Back to the pitch. Get underground."

He grabbed Roxy's arm, wide eyes hitting Bobby in the face.

"Rory!" Bobby shoved Roxy into his brother's arms. "Get in the changing rooms and stay there. Keep Roxy safe."

Rory nodded, half carrying Roxy as he followed his elder brother's instructions.

The troll was charging straight at them. Bobby pointed his wand at the ground, a brick wall sprouted up. One foot, five, ten…the troll burst through it. The ground at its feet exploded, a wide crater opening up, and the troll tripped into it. Ears ringing, Bobby whipped his head around and found Pax standing beside him with his wand pointed at the troll.

"C'mon," the Seeker yelled, grabbing Bobby's jersey. "It won't keep him long."

The two boys raced to catch up with the rest of the team, tossing jinxes and curses behind them. Every few seconds, the troll screamed, telling Bobby they had bought few more seconds. Pax skidded through the gates of the Quidditch pitch, but Bobby stopped dead.

"What are you—"

Bobby raised his wand. "Protego totalum!"

Pax matched Bobby's spell with his own and a shimmering, purple barrier engulfed the Quidditch pitch. The troll was barreling down on them, its club raised over its head. The shield wouldn't hold against a very determined troll forever, but maybe it would give the professors long enough to subdue the creature.

"Shite," Pax breathed.

A second troll, bigger than the first, came around the Whomping Willow. The tree twisted around and pummeled the troll with its branches, only to be beaten back by a club. The second troll bellowed and charged towards its companion.

"In the changing rooms," Bobby yelled over the roars. "Fast."

* * *

A/N 4: See you next. Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shite," Charlie breathed.

Rooted to the front landing, Charlie stood gobsmacked as chaos unfolded before him. One troll battered the Whomping Willow with its club. Splinters and branches flew with each sickening crack. The other monster rained blows down on the Quidditch pitch. The bleachers should disintegrate like kindling, but somehow they resisted.

Hagrid tumbled out the doors behind Charlie. "Two!"

"The students must have cast a shield."

Adrian, tall and slender, pointed his wand in the direction of the pitch. He could have been commenting on the weather—which was shite if anyone cared—but his knuckles were white and his wand in danger of being snapped in half. Charlie chose to concentrate on his fellow professor's tone. It helped keep the panic, thick with squirming tentacles, from climbing up his throat.

"Adrian," Neville marched out the door, stabbing his wand in the direction of his fellow professor. "Get busy reinforcing those wards around the castle. Charlie, Hagrid and I will keep this troll distracted while you head out to the pitch. Do your best until I can send reinforcements."

The paunchy, cardigan-wearing professor hurried down the steps without glancing behind him. The scars on each cheek were faded now making it easy to forget Neville Longbottom had once led Dumbledore's Army. He'd even had the unpleasant duty of issuing orders to Ginny. Charlie wouldn't mistake Neville for mild-mannered again.

Shaking himself, Charlie raced down the steps and over the slick grass away from the castle. He had a job to do.

It had been a long time since he was a full-time dragon keeper. He'd accrued enough good will with his old boss to earn an open invitation to play at it every summer in a limited capacity. Sergei liked to laugh over Charlie's rusty skills. Still, facing a two-ton, fire-breathing reptile was a walk in the park compared with the job ahead of him. It wasn't the troll—Charlie could handle trolls—it was the danger posed to Pax.

oOo

The troll's roar rattled the windows high above the Hospital Wing. Alicia, clipboard in hand, allowed herself one glance. She pointed her wand at the supply cabinet and an enamel bucket of rolled bandages floated out. St. Mungo's had promised a medi-witch as soon as one became available. The hospital seemed to be experiencing its own emergency.

The next roar came from further away, but that gave Alicia no relief. She settled the bucket on the table along with the other supplies she'd gathered for potential casualties. With any luck, she wouldn't need any of it, much less the promised medi-witch.

"Do you need any assistance?"

Madam Pince stood in the archway. The ancient librarian was shriveled, her iron gray hair pulled into a tight bun atop her head. A pair of pince-nez was perched at the end of her pointy nose. Over the last year, Alicia had become accustomed to calling Professors McGonagall and Flitwick by their Christian names, but Madam Pince was still Madam Pince. Not even Minerva called her "Irma."

"Do you have any experience with healing charms and potions?" Alicia asked.

The librarian's hands were clasped before her, her elbows at stiff angles. "I've read about them, yes."

Alicia summoned a second clipboard and self-inking quill, offering them to the elderly witch. "Hopefully casualties will be minimal, but I do need someone to keep a list of patients and their ailments."

"Of course." Madam Pince took the clipboard with a sniff. "Orderly papers are important to any successful enterprise."

Alicia tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. She turned on her heel and marched over to the supply cabinet in order to retrieve the last item on her list. With great care, she pulled the tray of dittany bottles from the shelf, the clink of glass against glass overly loud in the cavernous Hospital Wing.

"_Roooaaarrrr!"_

Retracing her steps, Alicia's hands tightened around the tray in the instant before the explosion. The castle shook. Alicia pitched forward, banging her shin against the metal frame of a bed. She flung out one hand, the tray tipping. Her foot caught on the leg of the bed and she tumbled to the stone floor. The tray arced through the air, the bottles crashing on the flagstone and shattering. Alicia landed hard on her hip and the tray skidded under the neighboring bed.

"Madam Spinnet-Pucey!"

Alicia sucked in a breath. For a moment she stayed down, both hands braced on the floor, and her eyes squeezed shut. Time warped, it whirled around her so fast she couldn't catch her breath, and yet it felt an eternity. It felt like she was still falling.

"Give me a moment, please."

The oaken rafters groaned overhead. Pain radiated in waves from her hip. Alicia balled one hand, nestling it against her abdomen. No matter how many years or how much happiness separated Alicia from the war, the fear of losing her loved ones never fully left her. It lurked, marrow deep, in her bones, waiting to steal her peace. Where was her husband?

_No. Stop right there. _

There wasn't time to wallow in the past or worry about the future. There was work to be done. Alicia blew out the breath she'd been holding. She took another one, slow and steady, and blew it out again. She opened her eyes. A layer of dust covered the floor and beds. Greenish smoke wafted from the brown puddles on the floor. Muddy stains blossomed on the white blankets. Glass winked everywhere. Her hip hurt, but nothing else.

Standing, Alicia brushed her hands down her apron. What happened outside the castle walls was out of her control. However, she could manage what happened inside the Hospital Wing and she controlled her own response. There would be patients soon, if the violence of the last blow meant anything. Probably sooner than they could clean up this mess. At the very least, the glass and potion needed to be vanished. She'd need more dittany, too.

Right. Work would save her.

"Madam Pince." Alicia was already limping away. "Please clean up this mess, I just need to pop into the storeroom for a tic."

oOo

"Oi, Pucey! Watch out!"

Adrian flattened himself against the stone wall of the castle. The whoosh of the troll's club stole his breath as it swung by. Hagrid was waving his arms and yelling at the troll while Neville blasted hexes at its ankles and feet. The thing roared and shook its club above its head, still too close to Hogwarts for comfort. Pulling oxygen back into his lungs, Adrian stepped away from the wall. He'd only reinforced the wards on a fraction of the castle.

Hexes pinged in the dirt by Adrian's feet.

"Away from the bloody castle!"

From the front steps, Jerome Snowe and Electa Edwards' stunning spells went wildly awry. As professors of Arithmancy and Astronomy, respectively, neither of them were skilled duelist nor did they know the first thing about trolls. They were more likely to take out another teacher than hit a twelve foot tall opponent.

"Snowe!" Adrian jerked his wand at the two professors. "Edwa—Bloody! Nev!"

The troll lumbered by the edge of Adrian's vision with its club in half-swing. Pivoting, Adrian pointed his wand at the castle.

"Protego!"

He wasn't close enough or fast enough.

The club smashed into Gryffindor tower with a deafening bang. Rock and glass exploded. The ground quaked and Adrian was pitched to his knees. Screams tinkled out of the gaping hole. The troll shook its club above its head, making a strange, gurgling whistle. Neville and Hagrid were already running towards it.

The troll swung.

Adrian's wand slashed through the air. "Impedimenta!"

Frozen in mid-swing, Neville hit the troll with a Knock-back jinx. It stumbled back and Neville hit it again and again. Adrian rushed into the space created by the Head of Gryffindor and cast a shield over the cavity in the castle wall. It would keep the students from falling to their death and slow the troll if it intended to take another whack at the walls.

"Well, this is a pickle."

Adrian glanced down to find Rolanda Hooch, her hair perpetually windblown and skin leathery. How many students were still in Gryffindor tower? Surely most of them had been evacuated by now. Regardless, Adrian feared Alicia would soon have patients.

"Need a wand?" Rolanda asked.

"Reinforce the wards on this section of castle," Adrian instructed. "I'll press Jerome and Electra into duty as well."

oOo

Bright lights exploded next to the troll's head. It screamed, reaching for the disintegrating sparkles. A lasso flew out the tip of Charlie's wand and looped around the troll's club. Charlie dug his heels in and yanked on the rope only to be torn from the ground. The bellowing troll swung the club. The world whirled past Charlie's eyes in the seconds before he smacked into the shield surrounding the Quidditch pitch. The magic crackled against Charlie's back as he slid off the shield onto the spongy ground.

_I'm getting too old for this._

Everything was going to hurt tomorrow, but there was no time to dwell. Groaning, Charlie rolled away from another swing of that bloody club. The shield was battered. Holes gaped in its shimmering dome. Another hit and the shield would disintegrate.

Getting to his feet, Charlie hit the troll with a series of stinging hexes. It wailed, flailing its club. At this point, Charlie had only one goal—keep the damned thing distracted until help arrived.

Racing behind the troll, Charlie aimed a Bombarda charm at its feet. Dirt and grass exploded into the air. The troll yelped, stumbling forward. Charlie did it again, hoping to force the troll away from the Quidditch pitch. He hadn't seen Pax or any of the other members of Gryffindor's team, but suspected they were close. If they had a shred of sense, they'd be hiding in the changing rooms below ground.

The next Bombarda hit the troll in the shin.

It screamed, clutching its leg and hopping around. Time slowed as the troll lost its balance, arms flailing, and fell. Charlie scrambled out the way as the troll crashed through the shield and onto the walls surrounding the pitch. The ground quaked, tossing Charlie into the air along with dirt and splinters. He landed several feet away and rolled onto his side.

Panting, Charlie stared at the troll as it stumbled to its feet and brought a crashing blow down on the arch leading to the changing rooms.

oOo

The walls shook. Dust and bits of rock rained into Roxy's springy curls. She covered her head, her screams drowned out by the percussion of blows against the Quidditch pitch above. The troll must be right on top of the changing rooms. What if it broke through the ceiling? Roxy snuffled and wiped her face against Rory's chest.

The two of them were huddled into the corner by the lockers. The Beaters and Melinda were huddled under a table on the opposite side of the room. Pax was crouched near the other locker bay, sticking his head around the corner every few moments, probably watching for Bobby who hadn't been seen since the team got underground. A purple haze of fear clogged Roxy's brain—she didn't like to admit it, but she was so scared her bones felt like jelly—but a niggling worry wormed through.

"Where's Bobby?"

"Right there."

Roxy pried herself away from Rory's jersey to see Bobby striding around the locker bay with his crimson Quidditch robes trailing behind him. Just for a tiny second, she forgot she'd known him her entire life and that he was a humorless git. She also forgot her general disdain for all boys in general. There was something reassuring about the wave of Bobby's brown hair and grim frown.

"Everybody, huddle together," Bobby yelled, waving his arms in a wide arc to herd the team into the middle of the changing rooms.

The other team members crawled across the floor, but Roxy couldn't make her legs move.

"C'mon, Rox." Rory's fingers hooked under her armpits as he half-dragged her out of their corner.

Another gigantic blow rattled the changing rooms. Plaster sprayed down, the floor bucked beneath Roxy's feet. The candles flickered. Roxy whimpered. _Please stay lit. Please stay lit_. Total blackness smothered Roxy and she screamed.

"Move, Rox." Rory was still half-pushing, half dragging her across the floor.

"Lumos Maxima."

Bluish light cast shadows against the walls, and Bobby was visible standing between two benches, his wand held aloft. Another blow rattled the rafters. Roxy grappled with her courage. George would be so ashamed of her—freezing like an ickle baby. Even Mum's eyebrows would have something to say about Roxy's behavior. Freddie didn't bare thinking about. _You're a Gryffindor and a Weasley. Act like it!_ She forced one foot forward at the same time another blow shook the walls. And another. And another. The lockers toppled over with a clanging crash. Rory pushed Roxy away, but she still fell, cracking her elbow and chin on the stone floor. Her leg pinned by something more ungainly than heavy.

Pain blossomed in Roxy's face, and it felt like her teeth had been rattled loose. She peered over her shoulder to see what trapped her leg. Now the tremors were inside her body, trying to shake all her bones apart. The cries seemed to start in her chest and burst out in short, keening wails. Roxy's foot was trapped under Rory's arm. Only his dark head and shoulders were visible, the rest of him pinned under a metal locker.

"Rory!"

"Shite!" Bobby skidded to his brother's side, falling to his knees. He glared at her, his eyes wet, and snarled, "Shut it, Roxy!"

She did. Her lips sealed shut, her breath trapped inside her burning lungs.

oOo

Wind lashed Minerva's aged face with chilly fingers. Stone, timber, and broken furniture lay between the Headmistress and the gaping hole in Gryffindor tower's mighty walls. She couldn't begin to calculate the number of times she'd stood in this very common room, but it must number into the thousands. Maybe more. Her favorite spot as a student was the tartan chair nearest the window. A lamp stood beside it, casting the perfect amount of light for doing her assigned reading. It was also exceedingly comfortable with its beaten down cushions and worn soft velvet. Of course, Minerva hadn't been the only one with a preference for that particular spot. She had to be particularly crafty to beat Augusta Longbottom, née Fawley, to the chair each night.

Perhaps Minerva should write Augusta to inform her of the chair's demise, as well as the lamp's and window's, or perhaps not. The old cow wasn't one for sentimentality, but then, neither was Minerva. It was shameful to mourn the end of a chair, of all things, when students had been injured.

"Merlin's pants!"

Filius picked his way through the rubble, eyes sweeping the wreckage. Ravenclaw tower had been destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd rebuilt, of course, but Minerva understood the grief her friend had felt a bit better.

What was she doing? Minerva shook herself. Really! This was no time for lollygagging. Pulling out her wand, Minerva performed a Homenum Revelio. The charm swooped up each stairwell and back again within moments.

Minerva gasped.

oOo

An unconscious girl floated at the end of Minerva's wand.

"We found Miss Sedgewick under some rubble in her dorm room," the Headmistress said. "Her breathing is shallow and pulse weak."

"Third bed," Alicia instructed, kneeling beside Mr. Averill in bed one. His diagnostic spell revealed no internal injuries, but a concussion and broken arm, both of which she healed. Alicia summoned a purple vial containing essence of foxglove. "Take this for the pain. I'll administer Skelo-Gro when I can monitor you more closely."

Injured Gryffindors lined the walls of the Hospital Wing, clinging to one another and crying. Alicia limped to Miss Sedgewick's side, a stiff ache in her hip and lower back. She would need to attend to her own injuries, but not yet. Pulling back Miss Sedgewick's eyelid, Alicia flashed her wand in the girl's eye.

"Is this the last of them?" she asked Minerva.

"For now," the Headmistress answered, frowning.

Alicia felt a hand on her shoulder and a firm squeeze, but focused on her patient.

oOo

Vines poked out of the dirt at the base of the troll's feet, climbed its legs, and wound around its waist. The troll bellowed and thrashed, but the vines tightened. It was beautiful magic.

"Plants?" Adrian shouted.

Something approximating a grin flashed across Neville's face. "It's what I know best."

The troll swung its club at the suffocating vegetation and bashed itself in the leg. It howled in pain and took another swing, clobbering itself in the head. The eyes crossed, and it swayed on its feet.

"We got this," Neville yelled over his shoulder to Adrian. "Go help Charlie."

Adrian made a wide arc around the troll, still writhing against the vines. The grass was still dewy slick under his feet, but the clear autumn sun had burned away the fog. More than twenty yards separated the castle and the Quidditch pitch. Adrian ran every one, his lungs burning in his chest. Red and purple jets exploded from the end of Charlie Weasley's wand. Blood oozed from cuts and gashes in the trolls hide as it raged at the professor. Its club swiped through the air. Charlie leapt away at the last moment.

"Need a hand?" Adrian said. Breath puffed out of his heaving chest, sweat staining his armpits, black hair plastered to his forehead. He aimed a stunning spell at the troll. Their hide wasn't as thick as a giants', a stunner could work but it had to be aimed precisely between the eyes. Adrian's charm pinged, useless, off the troll's cheek.

"Where's bloody Creature Control?" Charlie demanded.

Excellent question. Beyond the troll, half the Quidditch pitch was demolished. Shattered stone, splintered lumber, crimson and blue banners muddied and shredded in the dirt. Adrian swallowed. The tunnel leading into the changing rooms was collapsed.

"Where is the Gryffindor team?" Adrian asked.

Charlie's wand wavered. He dragged his gaze away from the troll to stare at his fellow professor. Charlie's eyes were dry, but his expression stricken. There was a sickening cramp in Adrian's stomach. He didn't glance at the pitch again. He didn't need to. The ruins were burned into his mind's eye. Robert Wood was his best student—tactical and determined. Adrian tried to put faith in that singular mind.

_What will I tell Alicia if…._

The blow came in that instant of distraction. One moment, Adrian was contemplating the fate of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the next he was flying through the air. He landed hard in the dirt, what oxygen left in his lungs whooshed out of him. There was a split-second of bleary disorientation before pain exploded in Adrian's arm.

oOo

Charlie shook his head to clear the fuzziness from his brain. Blinking, he saw Adrian sprawled on the grass several yards away. The troll. Where was the troll? Charlie looked around, seeing the beast shaking its club in the air and bellowing his victory.

Picking himself off the ground (every muscle in his middle-aged body was going to hurt by nightfall), he dashed to Adrian's side. The other professor was conscious, and cursing a blue streak. Adrian's left arm lay at an unnatural angle.

"I didn't know you blue-blooded types knew such colorful language."

Adrian gritted his teeth. "Help…me…up."

Gripping his good arm, Charlie hauled the other man out of the dirt. Adrian swayed on his feet, his face ashen. The injured arm hung at his side. It was a matter of moments before the troll noticed them again, but the only cover was the Quidditch pitch. Charlie would not lead the troll back that direction.

Charlie cast a shield charm around himself and his mate. "Are you up to this?"

Sweat was beading on Adrian's forehead, his teeth clenched so hard Charlie feared he might crack one, but Adrian nodded. "I'm…all…you've got."

The club hung at the troll's side as it sniffed the air. Mountain trolls were half-blind—it was what made them so dangerous and mean—but they had a keen sense of smell and even keener sense of vengeance. The longer Charlie and Adrian stood in the open, doing nothing, the more danger they were in.

"Any bright ideas?" Charlie asked.

"Stunners," Adrian said between gasps. "Double strength."

There were tears in Adrian's eyes, and Charlie doubted the other man's ability to aim worth a damn in his condition. Still, it wasn't like there were many options left. Charlie had done everything he could to distract the troll, and it still bashed in the Quidditch pitch. For all Charlie knew, the changing rooms may have caved in and the kids were running out of oxygen.

"You have to hit it right between the eyes," Charlie said.

Adrian nodded. "Get its…attention."

Squaring his position, Charlie dropped the shield charm. The troll was lumbering about, still sniffing the air. Charlie let out an ear-splitting whistle and watched as the troll froze, turned, and stalked towards the two wizards.

"When he's ten feet from us," Charlie shouted.

The troll roared.

"I promised...my wife…no unnecessary risks."

"Well, I won't tell her if you don't." Charlie clutched his wand with both hands. "Now!"


	3. Chapter 3

The Class of '98 had produced many talented witches and wizards, tested under fire as they were, and Minerva could admit a soft spot for those particular students. After all, in some ways, they were not merely professor and pupils, but also comrades in arms. However, she was not feeling particularly indulgent as Terry Boot stepped through the Floo and brushed soot from his crimson Auror robes.

"I was expecting the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Minerva said. Her arms stiff at her side, chin raised so she could look down her nose at the taller Boot.

"Creature Control will be here directly."

Minerva sniffed. "Evidence would suggest otherwise."

"Apologies. Creature Control is understaffed at the weekend." Boot offered a crooked grin. "That's why I'm here."

"Don't try to butter me up, Mr. Boot." Had Minerva been sixty years younger she might roll her eyes. Terrance Boot hadn't been particularly charming as a student, and he certainly wasn't now. "There is a hole in the side of my school and students packing the Hospital Wing. Forgive me if I do not sympathize with the Ministry's staffing issues."

Minerva knew a kernel of satisfaction when Boot's grin disappeared.

Green flames roared inside the Floo and another wizard stepped out, wearing the navy robes of the Beast Division. Minerva knew Clearance Philpot from his Hogwarts days, and she was a good deal less impressed with him than she was with Boot's supposed charms. Hopefully, the rest of the team was more competent.

oOo

"I can't believe that worked," Charlie said.

Adrian ground his back teeth as he stared at the troll face down in the grass and mud. Searing pain shot through his left arm. It hung at his side, useless, the fingers numb. He was sure it would be a mass of blackened bruises under his shirt. The mere thought of moving made his stomach heave.

"Sit," Charlie said, his hand on Adrian's good shoulder.

"No," Adrian grit out. "We need…to find…the children and…bind up…." He motioned at the troll with his wand.

"At least…."

With a wave of his wand, Charlie conjured a loop of fabric knotted at one end. He placed it over Adrian's head and bent his arm so it was trapped against his body. The best Adrian could say about the sling was he no longer felt like vomiting.

"I'll take care of the…troll," Adrian said.

oOo

More plaster sprayed down on the shimmering purple shield erected by Bobby and Pax to protect the team. The Captain stared at the ceiling, wondering how there could be anything left. It seemed like most of the plaster was on the floor or in his hair. How much more of the stuff could be shook loose before the stones began falling?

Bobby shifted; his arm ached.

He'd been holding it aloft, fueling one half of the shield charm, for what felt like ages. Time was unreliable now. Sixty seconds felt like an eternity so he stopped trying to calculate how long the team had been trapped in the changing rooms. All he knew was enough time had passed to make his body hurt from sitting in one position too long.

On the other side of the team, Pax was a shard of tense muscles and knotted brow. The rest of the team huddled between the two boys, clinging to each other. Roxy lay with her head in her cousin's lap, hand curled beside her cheek. Tear tracks cut a path through the grime on her face. Bobby wasn't in the habit of mistaking Roxy for a harmless little girl—once, when they were seven, she and Mol had coated Bobby's broomstick in treacle and feathers. Bloody hell, those two, and their cousin Dom, were she-devils. Still, Roxy looked small under the blue and purple spell lights.

With his other hand, Bobby pushed the fringe from Rory's forehead, careful of the mottled purple-black bruises on the side of his face. As far as wee brothers went, Rory was a pretty annoying one. He was loud and reckless. He was a bloody tagalong. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life. Bobby had lost count of the number of times he and Campbell landed in hot water because Rory couldn't keep his blasted gob shut. He had his moments, though. Mostly when he was sleeping. Yet, this one time, Bobby found himself wishing his brother would wake. Shifting, Bobby tried to find a more comfortable position and pulled Rory closer, his brown hair scraping against the elder brother's chin.

"Did you hear that?" Melinda straightened.

The silence crackled as the team turned their eyes to the ceiling. Was this it? Was this the moment the world caved in? Bobby's arm tightened around Rory, his lungs paralyzed.

oOo

In Charlie's humble opinion, the people who worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were typically arseholes. They seemed to care more about the Control than the Creatures. Some of them, like his sister-in-law, went into the department for the right reasons, but even Hermione had moved on from the department after forcing through house-elf abolition. Regardless, Charlie was more than happy to see Creature Control at last.

Keeping his focus narrowed on the task before him, Charlie levitated a boulder away from the ruined walls of the Quidditch pitch. Now the trolls had been neutralized, the worry Charlie held for his kid was threatening to turn into full-scale panic. Most of the pitch was destroyed, rubble blocked the path into the changing rooms. His brain was trying to conjure the worst possible scenarios—_ceilings caved in, bodies broken and bleeding, Pax's lifeless eyes—_but Charlie wouldn't allow those images to budge in. There was a job to do, and he was going to see it through.

"Are the Gryffindor team under there?" Neville stumbled to a halt and clutched his knees. Dirt and sweat smeared his face and his sleeveless jumper was torn.

"We think so," Charlie answered. He glanced at Adrian who was white faced, his breathing fractious. "Somebody should get Pucey back to the castle before he collapses."

"Not…some…swooning…debutante," Adrian grit out, and floated three large stones from the pile.

"Who says we're concerned about your well-being?" Neville asked. "Rather not drag your half-dead arse into your wife's Hospital Wing, if it's all the same to you."

Laughter surprised Charlie. The rare Longbottom sarcasm was a fine vintage, even when Charlie was worried out of his mind. "He has a point."

"Shut it." Adrian was growing paler, but he kept on.

The rest of the professors joined the rescue effort. Soon, a pile of rocks formed in the center of the pristine pitch and the maw of the tunnel was revealed. Charlie stepped towards the pockmarked stairwell, but Neville grabbed his shoulder and yanked. Charlie glared at the other man.

Pucey shook his head, his mouth twisted. "Cautious…."

"It's dark down there," Neville said. "We don't know how stable the walls are or what kind of destruction we'll find. Having to save you will only slow the process."

Charlie clenched his teeth. Neville was right, dammit. A sphere of light launched from the end of the pudgy ex-Auror's wand, growing in size and intensity as it floated along the tunnel. Neville followed his spell down the steps and Charlie trailed after, relieved when Adrian held back. The tunnel forked at the base of the stairs. Straight ahead, leading to Rolanda's office, sunshine streamed in where it shouldn't. A broken timber hung from the ceiling, blocking the path. The girls' changing rooms were to the left, and the boys' to the right, both dark. Neville cast a Homenum Revelio charm in each direction.

The spells rebounded moments later: eight individuals were concealed in the boys' changing room. Charlie frowned at the results, less surprised than he should be. One

Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers, and one Seeker. That made seven, plus one more. Charlie suspected he was well acquainted with the tagalong, and he was glad he hadn't known to worry for her, too.

"This way," Neville said.

The Head of Gryffindor conjured another ball of light and picked his way through the corridor to the right. Charlie wrestled with the urge to shove Neville aside and race for the boys' changing rooms. This situation called for caution. Charlie hadn't spent a decade on a dragon reserve without learning caution's value, but the part of him who'd been as good as Pax's dad for sixteen years screamed for action.

Dust hung in the air, scratching at Charlie's eyes and clogging his lungs. The floor was scattered with stones shook loose from above. A heavy slab blocked the doorway into the changing rooms. Fists thudded against the door on the other side.

"In here! Help!"

"We'll have you free in a moment," Neville yelled.

He vanished the slab and the door swung open. A blur of brown curls and crimson jumper bolted into Charlie's arms. He grunted at the impact, not surprised to find Roxanne Weasley's arms vice-like around his middle. One hand in his niece's springy curls, he searched through the gloom until his eyes landed on Pax's pale face and blue eyes. For the first time since he left Minerva's office, Charlie breathed easily.

"Dad!"

It had been a long time since Pax permitted more than a one-armed hug, but now he had both arms around Charlie with his face pressed into his shoulder. Charlie always had a soft spot for small, lost creatures. When Bill and Percy had turned up at the dragon reserve during the war with a widow and her week-old infant, Charlie had lost his heart instantly for the spindly newborn. Mary, hopefully and at last, found a measure of peace, but Pax had a home with Charlie as long as he wanted it.

"You're crushing me!" Roxy wheezed.

The other teammates filed out one by one under Neville's direction.

Charlie stepped back, wiping his arm across his face. "Alright?"

"Yeah," Pax said, he blinked wet eyes. "But Rory's hurt…."

oOo

The youngest Mr. Wood was a chatty student who couldn't master the concept of whispering. His voice rang through the hallways between classes, the center of boyish laughter and the dewy-eyed stares of adolescent girls experiencing their first crush. He was prone to rushing through his work, turning in slap-dash essays covered in ink blotches, and still eking out an Acceptable. His tie was invariably crooked. His shirttails always half in and half out. His robes usually missing altogether. And Alicia adored him.

Adrian leaned against Neville's shoulder. Ahead, Hagrid hurried away with Mr. Wood, the only sensible course of action. Adrian's stomach had sunk when Neville levitated the stretcher out of the tunnel into the sunlight. Mr. Wood looked young and battered. His stillness, his silence had seemed ominous. As none of the professors had more than basic healing knowledge, it was decided to have Hagrid rush him to the Hospital Wing. It was a perfectly sensible decision, but Adrian wished he could be there when Alicia saw Rory.

To do what, exactly? Adrian had no idea. Probably cause her more worry in his condition.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a stretcher?" Neville puffed. The Hogwarts lawn stretched before them full of pockmarks and ditches.

Adrian glared at his friend. He would walk into the Hospital Wing under his own power and spare Alicia the sight. Quite frankly, Adrian wished to spare his own ego the indignity. Bad enough he needed Neville's support in the first place, but Nev and Charlie insisted. They feared Adrian might pass out from the pain. It was all very lowering.

Hogwarts came into view as they crested the hill. Her normal magnificence was battered. The windows bared jagged teeth of broken glass and a hole gaped in Gryffindor tower. For a moment, the two professors stared at the maimed castle in silence.

"Well," said Neville, and cleared his throat. "I've seen worse, I reckon."

oOo

At first, Alicia didn't notice the hush that suddenly gripped the Hospital Wing. She was shinning her wand into the eye of Miss Chiswell who'd suffered a nasty gash just above her brow when her dorm room window shattered. It was only when Alicia stepped back she noticed the other students staring at the entrance. Turning, Alicia froze, her heart in a vice.

Hagrid filled the entrance of the Hospital Wing. He looked so much larger indoors. His hair scraped against the tall arch, his elbows squeezed by the widest points of the arcs. In his arms was the body of a boy with a familiar mop of dark hair.

Alicia had born witness to this scene before, during the Battle of Hogwarts, but it wasn't Harry Potter who haunted her. It was the moment she hadn't witnessed that nagged. Hagrid had carried Katie into the Hospital Wing after touching the Cursed Necklace. Alicia swallowed. It was the beginning of a long six months in which Katie's life teetered on the edge of oblivion.

_That story ended happily._

Taking a breath, Alicia looked around until she found the medi-witch St. Mungo's had sent twenty minutes before. Gladys Newelpost was a round-cheeked chipper woman with a ready smile already pointed at Alicia. She was a good choice for the.

"I've got the minor cases in hand, Madam," Gladys said and moved to the next chair where Timothy Burr sported a series of lacerations over one arm.

Alicia skip-hobbled forward. She shoved her memories in a corner. She put aside the sentimental emotions clogging her chest. Rory was her godson, yes. He had Katie's smile and Oliver's thick eyelashes. He was full of charm and energy. All of that was true, but at the moment, he was her patient and healing him was the only thing that mattered.

Contusions battered half Rory's face. Alicia swept his fringe back, searching for any other visible injuries. The diagnostic charm would reveal more. Looking at Hagrid, Alicia noted a laceration cutting blood red through the grime on Hagrid's cheek.

"Bed six, please," Alicia instructed. "Then take a seat, Hagrid, we'll see to your injuries in due time."

"Oh, no, Madam, it's nothin'," the half-giant said.

"Then you won't mind the wait. I've many patients ahead of you."

Alicia was about to turn on her heel to follow Hagrid when Bobby skidded through the entrance. He was red faced and wild eyed. Gripping Alicia's arm, Bobby gulped air into his lungs.

"Auntie Alicia," he said. "The locker fell on him. He's been unconscious this whole time…and…and…."

The words were tripping over themselves in their rush to exit the lad's mouth. Alicia pried his hand loose, squeezing it. Bobby's panic battered some of her resolve, but Alicia was a trained healing professional. She knew how to be the voice of calm, even within her own family.

"Bob, I'm going to take care of Rory, you don't have to worry, but you do have to let me do my job."

He swallowed, his face scrunching up.

"Do you need a Calming draught?"

Bobby shook his head.

"There's no shame in it." Alicia rolled onto her tiptoes to see over Bobby's shoulder, relived to see Minerva approaching.

"Mr. Wood." The Headmistress's hands curled around his upper arms. "Let's allow Madam Pucey to do her job, shall we?"

"I've got this," Alicia said, squeezing the boy's hand one last time.

"The trolls have been contained," Minerva said as she led the lad away.

oOo

"But where are the Gryffindors?" Roxy asked, staring at her damaged tower. She pressed into Uncle Charlie's side, squeezing his broad, callused hand between both of hers. The last hour—was it only an hour? If somebody told her the troll attack lasted only twenty minutes, she'd kick him in the shin. It felt like forever when they were trapped underground with the walls shaking around them, but Roxy figured it wasn't actually that long. An hour? Maybe two? How long did it take a troll to demolish most of the Quidditch pitch?

"I'm sure they're safe," Uncle Charlie said.

In Roxy's experience, most adults were useless. They said stuff so she wouldn't worry, but left out all the important details. Even George edited himself, and he was the coolest adult she knew. Of course the Gryffindors had been moved somewhere safe. The Headmistress wasn't about to leave students in a busted up tower, was she? No. They'd be moved elsewhere. That still didn't answer Roxy's question. Where were the Gryffindors now? Was anyone injured?

A sick feeling squirmed in Roxy's tummy.

There were twelve girls in Roxy's year, which made for a cramped dorm, even with magic. Three of those girls were Weasleys—Roxy, Dom, and Mol. They had been inseparable since birth, and even now their beds were lined up in a row. Tears prickled Roxy's eyes again. Her chin and elbow hurt, and this day had been the absolute worst.

"I'm sure they're fine," Pax said, as if he could read her mind. "Whatever deal you three made with the devil is stronger than a troll."

Roxy lunged at her stupid git cousin, but was restrained by Uncle Charlie. After Rory got hurt, Pax was almost nice—he kept Roxy close and petted her hair— but most of the time, he was the biggest git of them all. He was always suspicious of Roxy, Dom, and Mol, and quick with the snide comments. He didn't smirk at Roxy like she expected him to. Instead, he leaned down, and touched the tip of wand to her chin. The pain eased.

"I'm sure they are fine," Pax said again, and his tone could be mistaken for kind. "You're the Weasley Three—indomitable."

Arms crossed, Roxy frowned at her cousin. "Was that a complement?"

"Don't get used to it."

"C'mon." Uncle Charlie nudged Pax and Roxy's shoulders.

Roxy, her uncle, and cousin overtook poor Professor Pucey who was being supported by the perspiring Professor Longbottom, rushed up the stairs and into the entrance hall. The doors to the Great Hall were shut. They were never closed, never. Releasing Uncle Charlie's hand, Roxy rushed to the doors. She grasped the great, brass handle and heaved the oak barrier open. Inside, Gryffindors sat at their table with no feast before them.

"Roxy!"

A flurry of ginger hair and long legs crushed Roxy. Sadly, she was always the runt of the family, like George. It was Freddie who inherited all their mother's height, and then some. But that was neither here nor there. She was safe and warm in her cousins' arms. Roxy pressed her face into Dom's red-gold hair.

"We were so scared for you," Mol said.

Roxy burst into tears.

oOo

The diagnostic spell glowed red above Rory's head. _Fractured Pelvis_ disappeared from the list of injuries, the last major one. Alicia twirled her wand counter clockwise to reverse the Suspended Sleep hex she'd placed on him before healing the swelling of his brain—she hadn't wanted Rory to wake up until she had the other breaks mended. Holding her breath, Alicia waited.

Blue eyes blinked. "Auntie?"

"Don't move." Alicia smiled, moving to the edge of the mattress. "Where does it hurt?"

Rory groaned, shifting atop the blankets. "Everywhere."

"I'm going to give you Essence of Foxglove, but the pain will wear off by dinner time, I expect. Do you remember what happened?"

He started to shake his head, but grabbed it with both hands. His mouth twisted. "Ouch."

"Remember the 'don't move' bit?" Alicia feathered her fingers through his chestnut hair, feeling the dirt caked on his scalp. He still wore his kit and scuffed boots. Most likely, Campbell and Bobby had worn those same boots before they came into Rory's possession. Alicia could never decide if Katie was needlessly frugal or if she simply hated shopping that much.

"Is Roxy alright?" Rory asked.

Alicia blinked. "Roxy…."

"Bobby said to keep her safe."

"Of course he did," Alicia muttered. Chivalry and Chauvinism was the Wood family motto.

Of course, _of course_, Roxanne Weasley had pushed her way onto the Quidditch team. As headstrong as Angelina and as lawless as George, their eldest sproglet was a force to be reckoned with. The Weasley family motto may as well be Rules Need Not Apply. The moment Alicia learned the Gryffindor team were trapped out of doors with a marauding troll on the loose, she should have known to add Roxy to her list of worries.

"She-she hasn't been brought into the Hospital Wing," Alicia said with every intention of double-checking.

Rory nodded. "I'm sure she's fine then."

Alicia wished she were half as satisfied with her answer as Rory. Squeezing his hand one last time and promising pain relief, Alicia stood and moaned. She slapped one hand over her mouth, the other jamming into her back. It was past time she saw to her own injuries, but there were still patients to tend. She stepped stiff-legged from behind the privacy screens as two figures hobbled into the Hospital Wing.

oOo

Blood splattered Alicia's white apron and tendrils of hair escaped the chignon she wore under her cap. Her eyes widened the moment they met Adrian's. He pulled his good arm from around Neville's shoulders, straightening to what Adrian hoped was a passable semblance of his otherwise impeccable posture. Pain robbed him of breath. His legs would not move, would not carry him to Alicia. He was stuck, panting, in the archway as she limped to him.

Adrian frowned.

"What have you done to yourself?" Alicia's clutched his face between her hands, her mouth tight.

"It's…nothing…to worry…."

"I'll be the judge of that," she snapped, and turned on Neville. "Help me move him to a chair."

The Head of Gryffindor had been lingering at Adrian's side, but now Neville grasped the wrist of his good arm and placed it across his shoulders again. Adrian gasped. He would prefer to move to the chair under his own power, but recognized his limitations and stumbled along, attempting to stifle any more embarrassing noises. Adrian glanced at Alicia.

"Are you…" Adrian wheezed as Neville dumped him into the chair. "…limping?"

Alicia, stooping before him, waved her wand over Adrian's arm. "It's nothing. Oh dear."

Adrian ignored the strained note in her voice, instead glaring at his stubborn wife. "You…are…."

Neville cleared his throat. "If I'm not needed…."

Adrian dragged his eyes from Alicia to acknowledge Neville. The man was pink, his eyes darting around. He pointed over his shoulder at the entryway. Neville wore the half grimace of person afraid he was about to witness a domestic spat.

"Nev," Alicia's voice was crisp, her head whipped around to face the other professor. "Roxanne Weasley…."

"She's safe," Neville said. He stopped fidgeting and looked Alicia in the eye. "Walked back to the castle with Charlie. And Mr. Wood?"

"On the mend. You've other Gryffindors here though. If you'll track down Madam Pince, she can give you an update."

Neville nodded, already backing away. "Cheers."

Adrian was glaring at Alicia when she turned her attention back to him. "You've injured yourself."

"And you said you wouldn't take any unnecessary risks."

Adrian opened his mouth, but closed it. "True."

Her lashes hid her eyes from him. "But you're not dead, so I reckon that's something."

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. For the moment, Adrian would allow the issue of her injury to pass. There would be time for that later. It was no small blessing.

"Love." She crouched beside him, grimacing. "You've a comminuted fracture to your humerus. There's also an oblique fracture to your radius."

As the brother and husband of Healers, Adrian had picked up enough medical terminology to understand his upper arm bone was shattered and there was an angled break in his lower arm. He suspected he would not enjoy the treatment. Adrian wrapped his fingers around Alicia's.

"I'm going to vanish your arm bones."

Sitting back in his chair, Adrian stared at her. He'd been afraid this was coming.

"Your pain will be relieved temporarily and we'll move you to a bed. When I've time to properly monitor you, I'll administer Skele-Gro."

oOo

An owl zoomed through the front doors, bearing down on Minerva. She could well imagine the vast number of people wanting her attention at the moment—the Ministry, the _Daily Prophet_, the Board of Governors, worried parents. While she felt sympathy for the parents, even they would have to wait. She'd deactivated her Floo, and while the Board would complain, Minerva felt the crisis at hand deserved her full attention. The owl dropped its missive.

"Filius," she said to her Deputy Headmaster. "See to that, please."

The diminutive Head of Ravenclaw scooped up the parchment. "It's from the _Prophet_. Would you like me to answer?"

Minerva pursed her lips. "In due time."

Stepping onto the front steps, she surveyed the courtyard with a frown. One of the trolls was trussed like a Christmas goose a few yards away from the steps upon which Minerva stood. Great ditches and wide trenches ravaged the lawn. In the distance, only the yellow Hufflepuff flags were visible over the Quidditch pitch. _At least,_ Minerva thought, _it wasn't burned to the ground this time._

"Do you ever feel incredibly old and tired?" she asked.

Filius sighed. "I never thought to see a scene like this again."

Indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: It's the final chapter. Thank you to everyone whose come along on this adventure with me. I will admit to fiddling with this final chapter right up to the moment of posting so if there's any mistakes they belong to me.

Thank you again to my beta, BurgundyHope. She is a very busy artist, but she still makes time for me.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"The first of the parents are arriving." Madam Pince sniffed. "In my day we didn't allow parents to visit, even if their child was injured or ill, and do you know why?"

A parchment plane buzzed over Alicia's cap and she plucked it out of the air. "Enlighten me."

"Muggle parents cannot visit Hogwarts," the librarian continued in a clipped voice. "It is therefore unfair to allow magical parents to do so. It is an injustice."

Alicia looked up from the memo. "I agree."

Refolding the parchment, she slipped it into her pocket next to the bottle of Skele-Gro. All but one bed was occupied. Terry Boot had just hauled in one of the officials from Creature Control, the medi-witch from St. Mungo's was seeing to him. Apparently he'd had the misfortune of tripping over the troll's club and twisted his ankle. Otherwise, the rest of the minor injuries had been cleared.

Alicia smiled at Madam Pince as she limped past. "We'll have to find a way to remedy the situation, won't we?"

"Do you mean…Muggles at Hogwarts?" Madam Pince's mouth gaped open. If the old woman had eyebrows, Alicia was sure they would have climbed into her hairline.

"Excellent idea. I'll mention it to Minerva."

Madam Pince's sputtering face was still etched in Alicia's mind as she pulled the wheeled stool up to Mr. Averill's bed and sat. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, Madam Pucey." The boy was a bit small for thirteen with a mop of ginger hair.

"Have you had Skele-Gro before?"

He scooted down the bed as if he could hide from what was coming.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Then you know it doesn't taste very good."

"It hurts."

"Yes, that, too. The good news is that you'll only need a small dose. I was able to mend the break in your arm with magic, but the potion will strengthen your bones to prevent future breaks." Alicia poured two teaspoons of the smoking potion into a beaker. "While I can't do anything about the taste, the pain will be minimal at this dosage."

Mr. Averill did not seem relieved by this news. He pinched his nose and gagged down the foul concoction. Gasping, he stuck out his tongue. Alicia vanished the used beaker and glanced at the doorway in time to spot Katie and Oliver. They were dressed in Gryffindor jumpers, Belle clinging to her father's hand.

"Mum!" Rory sat up in his bed.

There was a blur of crimson and gold as Katie dashed to her son's side. She nearly tackled him into the mattress, it was hard to tell which one was hanging on harder. Alicia dug in her other pocket for a lolly and presented it Mr. Averill.

"To make up for the taste." She winked and got up to limp over to Rory's bed, hands propped on her hips. "Oi! I just put him back together."

Katie beamed at Alicia, wiping her cheeks with her palms. "Cheers."

"Auntie Alicia." Belle latched on to Alicia's hand, her smile dazzling. "Do you have a lolly?"

Alicia produced a blue lolly from her pocket.

Belle's nose scrunched up. "Do you have a red one?"

"I'm a Healer, not a lolly dispenser."

With a sigh, the little girl accepted her inferior blue lolly. "Cheers, I guess."

"Belle!" Katie scolded.

"Where's mine?" Rory asked, kicking his legs as Belle climbed over them.

"Oh, yours is coming," Alicia warned, an eye on the entrance where Oliver hovered. "Please be careful with my patient. That goes for you, too, Mr. Wood."

The shadow over Oliver's features darkened as Alicia approached. His hands were jammed in his jeans pockets and his shoulders stiff. The last time Oliver was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Katie had been the patient. She'd been still and pale and none of them knew if she'd ever wake up again.

"I hate this place," Oliver said.

"This isn't like Katie," Alicia said, squeezing his rock hard bicep. "Rory's already up and bedeviling his sister."

A smile flickered around his mouth. "He bounces, aye? Like Katie."

"Go be with your family."

Tension melted from him with each step closer to Katie and the kids. Oliver joined her on the edge of the bed, overwhelming the narrow space, and Katie turned her smile on him. The last shadow disappeared in the light of her sunshine. Katie, who hated St. Mungo's to an irrational degree, couldn't remember being brought to the Hospital Wing after touching the cursed necklace. She didn't understand Oliver's reluctance, but maybe it didn't matter. They'd been married for ages and knew how to offer and accept comfort with barely a word spoken between them.

Alicia looked past the Wood family to where her husband was pretending to be asleep. She slipped her hand inside her pocket, feeling the parchment memo and running her fingers over the ridges of the Skele-Gro bottle. Some of the resolve that had carried Alicia through the day slipped. For a moment, she let herself consider how close Adrian and Rory came to catastrophe and her insides wobbled.

Closing her eyes, Alicia took a deep, fortifying breath. The crisis was over, but not her duty. The house-elves oversaw the clean up, vanishing discarded gauze and mopping blood splatters from the floor. Madam Pince was busy transcribing her notes onto patient files. There were still patients who needed a dose of potion, including the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Alicia dragged herself to his bedside, flicking her wand at the privacy screens, which zoomed into place around the bed. Adrian needed a rather large dose of Skele-Gro, and few people could maintain their dignity while drinking the stuff. He wouldn't want the students to witness him gagging and sputtering to get it down.

"I thought you were avoiding me," he said.

"You know me well." Alicia sat on the edge of the bed and vanished the makeshift sling. His boneless arm flopped on the mattress like a wet noodle.

"It feels odd." Adrian undulated his shoulder but the arm merely wriggled a bit. "Like it's divorced from my body."

"But no pain? Sometimes patients feel pins and needles before their bones are restored."

"No." Adrian watched as Alicia unbuttoned the cuff around his useless wrist, then the other. She started on the row buttons down the front of his shirt, but Adrian's good hand crashed down on hers, trapping them against his chest. Alicia tugged, but he wouldn't let go.

"I need to check your arm for bruising."

"Not until you heal yourself."

"Adrian." Grunting, Alicia yanked one hand free but he caught the other. "Honestly!"

"If you'll please heal yourself."

"It's not serious."

"Then it will take only a moment."

Alicia's lips thinned. "Fine."

"Thank you."

"Your good manners are your most infuriating quality."

"I could say the same for your stubbornness. Let's see, shall we."

Searching the privacy screens for gaps and not finding any, Alicia shifted on the narrow mattress so she was leaning across her husband's legs, his knees jamming into her ribs, and hiked up her skirts. The bruise was the color of an aubergine and larger than her hand. It was angrier than Alicia imagined it would be.

"That looks painful." Adrian reached across, his fingers skimming the air above her hip.

"Not as painful as a shattered arm, I assure you."

"It's not shattered anymore." He wiggled his shoulder again. "Would you like me to heal it?"

Alicia shook her head, pointing her wand at her hip. The bruise cycled from eggplant to mulberry to puce and finally chartreuse before fading away. The dull throb eased. The ache in her back and joints disappeared, and with it the distraction. Dragging herself around on a bum hip all day kept Alicia from worrying about other, more catastrophic consequences, no matter how unlikely. She pressed her hand into her stomach.

"I have a spot of good news for you," Alicia said, eyes half-closed and tone light.

Adrian's hand settled onto her hip, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin. "You've suddenly improved the taste of Skele-Gro?"

"No, sadly. But I do have a lolly for you when it's over."

Adrian's lip curled. "Cheers. Tell me your good news, I may need something to look forward to."

Alicia pulled the parchment from her pocket. "Minerva badgered St. Mungo's into sending over two medi-witches for the night. I'll get to take you home after supper."

"That is good news. I wasn't looking forward to sleeping here. This mattress is wafer thin. Any chance of a shower?"

"Maybe. Though a sponge bath would be safer."

Adrian bit his lip. "Is that so?"

"What's that look?" Alicia sat up, smirking. "You didn't think I was performing the sponge bath, did you? Healers don't do that, love. It's a Medi-witch's job. I'll just call Gladys over, shall I. I'm sure she'll be very gentle as she strips you down."

"I can wait. It's you who'll have to sleep next to my sweat encrusted body and smelly—"

"Okay, okay! I'm sure a shower can be arranged." Alicia cocked her head to one side, scrunching up her nose. "You know, we're likely to return to a mess. Ralph's never been cooped up this long before."

"I asked Hagrid to look after him."

"Oh, you clever man." Alicia cupped his face, stubble scratchy against her palm. Adrian normally shaved twice a day while at Hogwarts, but he was less fastidious when at his cottage in France. Their cottage? It was still early days, and sometimes it was hard to wrap her mind around the ways their lives were now intertwined.

"You know," she said. "It would be much easier, and safer, to transfer you by stretcher. Less jostling of your arm, quicker…"

"Absolutely not."

"And you call me stubborn. Now, I really do need to administer the potion." She pulled the Skele-Gro out of her pocket.

"Alicia."

She looked up at him.

He looked like he might say something, but didn't. Instead, he caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I'm ready if you are."

oOo

"Here."

A plate piled high with bacon sandwiches plunked down on the table before Bobby, a crisp skittering across the wood. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since early morning when he'd forced porridge into his knotted gut. Despite the nerves, no good came from playing Quidditch while hungry. In the same spirit, Bobby picked up a crisp.

"Eat." Cam climbed onto the bench beside his cousin, banging his knees against the underside of the table. "Bloody hell, this was not made for tall people."

Bobby looked around, but saw no other Hufflepuffs. "Where's your food?"

"I ate in the common room already."

"Where is the rest of your House?"

"Still confined. Professor Sterns fetched me, said I should join you here."

"Did she tell you—"

"Aye."

Bobby tried to swallow, but his throat closed up. "Do you reckon…."

"I reckon they don't want to give out the news twice once Rory's on the mend. Head injury?"

Bobby nodded. He could never decide if Cam was an optimist, or if he simply refused to worry without cause. Either way, Bobby figured it was the reason Cam landed in Hufflepuff. However, Bobby was a realist. Cam hadn't seen Rory, how quiet and still he was.

"It's not like Rory was using his nut for much anyway," Cam said with a half grin.

Bobby snorted. "True. They'll find he was brainless to begin with."

"Exactly." Cam stole a crisp. "Eat. You're unbearable enough when you aren't hungry."

"Mr. Wood." Professor Longbottom, still dirty and disheveled, tripped up to the table with clipboard in hand. "Er, Misters Wood, good. I heard from the Headmistress—your brother is awake. In fact, your parents are here and you're welcome to visit him now. If you'll follow me…."

Cam extricated his long legs from the bench, but Bobby sat there for a moment. He blinked at the food on the plate, the image blurring. Something, some emotion for which he had no name, hovered over him out of reach. Cam prodded Bobby's shoulder. He stood, falling in step beside his cousin as they followed Professor Longbottom through the corridors to the Hospital Wing.

That mysterious feeling seemed to drift further away as Bobby scanned the room. Two girls from his year sat side-by-side with bandages held against their faces. Tommy Maguire, whose bed was next to Bobby's in the dorm, waved one hand, the other in a sling. Bobby hadn't noticed any of them the first time he was in the Hospital Wing with Hagrid and Rory. Hogwarts had come really close to disaster.

Finally, Bobby's eyes fell on his dad. Oliver Wood sat with his back to the entrance, his broad shoulders blocking out the person on the bed. Time, who had been unreliable and capricious all day, slowed. Bobby's lungs felt heavy. A blur of blonde pigtails and dungarees zipped past him into Cam's arms. Dad shifted, and Rory came into view. In Bobby's experience, being told something wasn't the same as seeing it with his own eyes. There, on the bed, was his perfectly fine, pain-in-the-arse brother.

The emotion hovering over Bobby swooped in, and his shoulder's sagged. Relief.

"Bobby?"

Mum stood on her tiptoes to hug him. Normally Bobby liked to take the mickey about finally outgrowing her, but not this time. The familiarity of her embrace made his heart ache. When Bobby was small, he thought her hair smelled like sunshine, but now he knew it was the flowery shampoo she used. Still, it was a good smell.

"Rumor has it you were very brave." Mum grasped the sides of Bobby's face, dragging him down to kiss his forehead.

"Well." Bobby blushed. He hadn't thought about the whole school knowing what happened in the Quidditch changing rooms, but of course they would. There were no secrets at Hogwarts, not that his supposed bravery was a secret. He did what need to be done, nothing more. "Didn't have much choice, I reckon."

Dad stood and clapped a hand on Bobby's shoulder. Cam was seated on the other side of the bed, Belle on his knee. On the mattress, Rory was none the worse for wear. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Bobby would have never known how bruised his wee brother's face had been. Or how pale he'd been, unconscious in Bobby's arms. Bobby's chest heaved.

"My first match as Captain was a bit of a bust, I reckon," Bobby said.

"I didn't even get to play," Rory complained.

"There will be plenty of time for Quidditch." Mum sat on the edge of Rory's bed, fussing with his blankets.

"Aye, well, I hear Quidditch is cancelled until next term," Campbell said.

"What?" Rory bolted up, but Mum pushed him back onto the bed. His eyes were round and his mouth gaping like a trout. "They can't cancel Quidditch."

"Oh," Mum said, glancing at Dad. "I think you'll find they can."

Dad shifted, his cheeks pink. "McGonagall is heartless like that."

Despite the chorus of his family's laughter, Bobby's stomach bottomed out. In the minutes, or maybe it was eternities, after they were rescued, Bobby's full concentration had been on seeing Rory safe. Now, snatches of memories played in his mind's eye: the smashed walls, toppled stones, the torn up grass. He pictured himself following the litter Professor Longbottom had conjured from the changing rooms and through the hallway into the sun bright pitch. He remembered how suffocating the air was, filled with rock dust. He remembered sunlight filtering through busted timbers overhead.

Swallowing hard, Bobby said, "Can't play Quidditch on a destroyed pitch."

He wasn't sure if he turned into Dad's chest or if Dad had pulled him into a hug. Either way, Bobby had his face pressed into the soft cotton of his dad's jumper. The lad's lungs ached, his throat closed, tears burned his eyes. He felt like a baby, crying on his dad's shoulder. Why now? The danger was over and Rory was patched up. The family was even here. Bobby hadn't felt like crying when a troll was chasing him. Aye, maybe tears stung his eyes when he first saw Rory trapped under the lockers, but they hadn't leaked out. It was stupid he should feel weepy now.

"It's over, love." Mum's fingers carded through Bobby's hair.

"Why is Bobby blubbering like a-ow! I'm recovering here."

"Shut it, Ror," Campbell muttered.

There was part of Bobby who wished he could disappear. He didn't dare look at his brothers and sister—he disliked pity as much as ridicule. Still, he felt lighter than he had in days.

oOo

"Pomona, what are you doing here?" Minerva set down her quill, her hand was cramping anyway.

"I asked her to come," squeaked Filius, marching around Pomona Sprout with a bottle of mead in hand. "I thought we could all use a night cap and a bit of commiseration."

Minerva opened her bottom drawer, extracted a bottle, and set it atop the desk. "After the day we've had, I think we need something stronger than mead. Glenlivet—Muggle whisky. My father preferred a local distillery when I was growing up, but it's as long gone as he is. This'll have to do."

"I'll get glasses," Pomona said. She hurried over to the sideboard where Minerva kept more alcohol hidden away in a secret cabinet in the side.

The old friends settled before the hearth, glasses in hand, and said nothing as the exhaustion of the day settled into their bones. Dumbledore was over one hundred when he died, Minerva reminded herself, and still the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever known. How did he do it? There were moments when she felt as old as Moses, and this was one of them.

For a long moment, Minerva stared at Pomona. The old witch—only a few years older than Minerva herself—wore dirt smudged dungarees, her fizzy hair a riot around her head. She lived in a cottage in some Welsh town with an unpronounceable name surrounded by cats and sheep. Last year, Pomona won first prize in the Hay on Wye Show for Magical Farmers. Beat out Hagrid with a pumpkin weighing in at just under a ton.

"How is retirement treating you?" Minerva asked.

Pomona narrowed her eyes. "Now you stop right there, Minerva McGonagall. You'd run mad within a fortnight."

"Tis true," Filius said, and burped. He could never hold his spirits. "You were not made for idleness."

"Hmph." Minerva sat back in her chair, squinting at her companions. "After today, idleness sounds rather pleasant."

"Then take a flying carpet tour over Christmas holiday," Pomona said.

"Merlin, that sounds dull. I think I'd rather hike the Alps."

"I think I might retire at the end of the year," the Head of Ravenclaw said.

"Filius!"

"My neighbor is placing her cottage up for sale in the spring," Pomona said, leaning over to pat his arm.

Filius shook his head. "As lovely as it would be to take tea with you everyday once more, I'm afraid I'm not cut out for country life. My brother's family lives in Paris and I should like to live there very much. The have an outstanding Charms Society."

Minerva placed her hand over her diminutive friend's. "But whatever shall I do without you?"

"That's just it, my dear. After today, I'm quite positive Hogwarts no longer needs me. You've put together a very capable staff." He took a sip of whisky. "Besides, these old bones complain about this drafty castle more and more."

"I'm sure Madam Spinnet-Pucey has a remedy for your old bones."

"But who will take his spot?" Pomona asked. "Deputy Headmaster, that is?"

"Is Pucey too young?" Minerva wondered aloud.

"Adrian was too young when you hired him as professor," Filius replied. "However, he is the obvious choice. Of course, there's Longbottom…always the dark horse."

"He has a family, do you think he'll want the extra responsibility?"

"I imagine Pucey will, too, before long."

"True." Minerva took a long sip. With Filius gone from Hogwarts, she would be the last of her generation of professors. From the corner of her eye, Minerva watched her two friends.

She would miss them.

oOo

"Charlie…."

He was having the best dream. So vivid his loins tightened, his breath shortened. Lavender was there, shrouded in honey colored hair, and whispering his name over and over. Merlin, he hadn't had a dream like this since his early twenties. The kind that left him hard and aching before he even woke up.

"Charlie…Charlie…..Oi, Chuck!"

Snorting, Charlie sat straight up. The branch of candles on the side table had burned low, casting shadows over the cottage's main room. Every muscle in Charlie's back, legs, and arms complained, as did the organ trapped inside his trousers. He wiped the corner of his mouth, blinking.

"Is it safe to come through?" Lavender's head floated in the green flames of the Floo.

"I'm alone," Charlie grunted, his eyes felt crusty with sleep.

Moments later Lavender was standing on the braided rug, brushing ash from her shoulder-bearing jumper. It was damn sexy, and utterly inappropriate for October in the Highlands. She tossed her hair back, settling her hands on her hips.

"Were you taking a kip in your chair, old man?"

There was nothing Charlie could say without confirming his status as ancient, and so he smirked at her.

"I've been following your heroics on the wireless all day." Lavender perched on his knee. Lifting her chin, she looked him over. "You promised me dinner."

"I did, didn't I? All I have is a bit of bread and some cheese." He braced his hands on the arms of the chair, but before he could stand, Lavender launched herself at him. For an instant, Charlie froze. This was a woman who wore her battle scars like fashion accessories. If there was a vulnerable heart there—and Charlie had not been allowed even a glimpse, though he had his suspicions—it was well guarded, but here she was, strangling him with her embrace. Caution was in order.

Charlie's fingers grazed her rib cage. "Hey."

"You're a bloody professor. I know you run off to Romania to relive your youth, but bloody hell, Chuck. You are forty-years-old. You are supposed to be safe and dependable and…and not get yourself squashed my marauding mountain trolls of all things! I had my fill of courageous heroes when I was a teenager."

"Lavender…." Charlie stroked her back, his mind still trying to make sense of what was happening. Only twenty-four hours ago she'd reminded him not to get used to her being around, and now she was blubbering into his chest like a maniac. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were worried about me."

Sniffing, Lavender sat back. Her eye make-up smeared her face and stained his shirt. "Don't be ridiculous."

His body still ached and he was tired to the bone. He'd come close to losing his son today, and that fear lingered in his chest. In truth, Charlie had kept well out of harm's way with a skill learned wrangling dragons. However, Lavender was right. It could have gone the other way. The troll's club could have caught him wrong and Charlie'd be dead without ever telling Lavender what he thought of her. He grabbed his courage—the real kind, not the one he'd needed to face a troll—and put his heart on the line.

"First, I'm not forty yet," he said. "And second, you wouldn't be here if you wanted safe and dependable. You're too full of brass to want something so boring."

Lavender sniffed. "I'm here because you've a mighty fine arse for an old man."

"True, but you haven't stuck around for my arse."

"I also appreciate your abs."

One corner of Charlie's mouth crooked up. "You and I…we're kindred spirits. We've been unlucky at love, we've rebuilt our lives out of the ashes left to us, and we're scarred…." He traced the deep, raw gashes marking her neck and chest with his fingers. "I am safe, Lavender, but not because I'm an old professor. I'll guard your heart with the same bravery you were cursing a moment ago…. If you'll let me."

She crossed her arms, hands clutching the opposite elbows. "I don't do relationships."

"You were married once."

"Yes, and look how that turned out."

"So you plan to cut love from your life entirely? You're braver than that."

Lavender looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm not the little woman type. I won't marry again and I can't have children."

Charlie did not move an inch. He did not fold her into his arms or grab her hands; he didn't even allow himself to blink. Her words were tossed out casually, but Charlie's heart broke for her. He wondered how she knew she couldn't have children. Had a Healer informed her? Charlie doubted it. His brother, Bill, was lucky to get answers from Healers, much less compassion. No, somewhere deep inside, Charlie knew she'd come to that conclusion through experience. He wasn't going to make her excavate that pain. Maybe one day, if he'd earned the right, she'd trust him with that bit of her battered heart.

"I have a son already," Charlie said, each word measured. "I don't need more children to fulfill me, but I do want you in my life…not just my bed."

"Well, if it's the price of a good shag…."

"Lavender."

She melted into him, her head on his shoulder and her hand curled into the worn fabric of his shirt. "Slowly, alright, go slowly."

Charlie wrapped his arms around her. "I'm a patient man."

oOo

Alicia flipped off the red Bakelite wireless sitting on top of the mahogany highboy. Her hair hung loose to her waist, and the black satin pajama top strained across her bust. When they officially combined their households in August, Adrian spent two weeks trying to find a good spot for the old wireless. It didn't get great reception under the best circumstances, and their subterranean apartment posed even more challenges. He'd finally settled on the highboy where the only station they got in was opera.

"I was listening to that."

Alicia climbed onto the bed. "Your brother told me you only pretend to like opera for your mother's sake."

"Lance should learn to keep his trap shut. Still, it's better than silence, and I think I'm developing a new appreciation."

"And I think you're just trying to annoy me."

"Maybe." Adrian's smile turned into a grimace.

He was propped up against five pillows, his arm supported on another stack. Skele-Gro was a miracle. Before its advent, breaks as serious as the one Adrian suffered were mended by magic alone—often leaving the patient deformed or lame. Skele-Gro changed all that. By Sunday morning, Adrian would be good as new. He should be thankful for modern healing, and yet he found it difficult to dredge up the appropriate amount of gratitude. Regrowing his arm felt like being jabbed by a thousand needs.

"I see the Essence of Foxglove isn't working." Alicia brushed his fringe back. "I brought a sleeping draught. The pain will be nothing but a memory."

"Not yet."

"Are you sure?"

Adrian stared at Alicia for a moment, then reached for her with his good arm. "Come."

The tension melted from Alicia's face. She curled beside him, head pillowed against his stomach and hair draped over both of them. All day, Adrian knew, she'd pushed herself beyond the worry for him and her nephews and…. Adrian picked up a lock of her hair, twining it through his fingers.

Days like this one brought up old memories for everyone, stripping away the veneer of distance to make the grief and horror fresh once more. Alicia's were more painful than most—no one would blame her if she went stark, raving mad, but she was made of sterner stuff. Long before Adrian came into her life, she'd pieced her heart together, loss stitched into the fiber.

"How are you?" Adrian asked.

"I've scheduled a breakdown for tomorrow afternoon, otherwise peachy."

Worry creased his brow. "It doesn't work like that, love."

"I know." Her fist was pressed against chest.

Saturday wasn't over yet. There was the long night before them. Why was everything more terrible at night? Pain, physical and emotional, always seemed more acute after dark. Maybe because there was nothing else to distract from the anguish. Night was when Alicia's memories preyed on her. Adrian reconsidered the sleeping draught. He was next to useless with his arm immobile, but there was no need for Alicia to be alone anymore.

His hand stilled in her hair. There was another question he wanted to ask, but he struggled to find the words. In truth, they didn't speak of it in more than the broadest terms most of the time. It was defined by a list of symptoms—nausea, exhaustion, breast tenderness. They were both a little afraid their little miracle might disappear.

"How did you hurt your hip?"

For a beat, Alicia was so still she wasn't breathing, then, "I fell."

Adrian's lips folded into a line. "And-and how are you?"

"Let's find out." She shifted around so she was lying on her back, head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Alicia pulled her top up and bottoms down to expose her as yet unchanged stomach. Waving her wand over her belly button, a host of red letters and numbers appeared over her body.

"What is this?" Adrian asked.

"Baby's vital signs."

"And how often do you perform this spell?"

Alicia glanced at him. "I'm not telling."

"I'll take that to mean somewhere between once an hour and every day."

"Yes." Alicia pointed at one statistic. "This means the levels of amniotic fluid are normal, no signs of leakage. The placenta is still attached to the uterus which is not experiencing contractions. In fact, I can assure there is no breakthrough bleeding…."

Adrian smoothed his hand over her hair.

"And this…." Alicia's wand trembled as she pointed at a set of numbers glowing larger and brighter than the others. "This is our baby's heart rate—strong and steady for ten weeks gestation."

Adrian cupped her belly.

"In a few weeks, we'll be able to hear baby's heartbeat, actually. George's invention, he modified the Extendable Ear when Angie was pregnant."

"Ah. Evil genius or altruistic inventor: the debate goes on."

Alicia laughed. "I think that's the company motto."

"And in a few weeks, we'll be out of danger?"

She twined her fingers through his. "Yes."

"We haven't really talked of it since the morning you found out but…" Adrian fumbled for words. "I-I'm over the moon."

Alicia sighed, turning her body into his and flinging her arm over his middle. "I try to tell myself not to get attached. Miscarriages happen, but…."

"You have an unruly heart?"

"Utterly foolish." Alicia tipped her face up to look at him. "As much as I want a family, I didn't realize how much courage this would take. Some mornings it seems more prudent to stay under the covers. What could go wrong if I never left the bed?"

"That's what makes you a Gryffindor, isn't it? The ability to get out of bed and face the day?" Adrian kissed her lips, chaste and soft. "Will you be able to sleep tonight?"

Alicia shook her head. "I can feel the negative energy in all my nerve endings already. I think I'm in for a long night."

Adrian liked how honest Alicia was about her night terrors. On another witch, it might seem vulnerable, but she was simply matter-of-fact. She understood very well what brought them on, and the clues her body gave before an episode.

"Then I'll forgo the sleeping draught," he said.

"Adrian, no." Alicia sat up.

"I might be useless, but at least I'll be here for you."

"I've faced my past alone before." Her nose wrinkled. "In fact, that's how it's always been until recently."

Adrian laced their fingers together. "And you don't have to do it alone anymore. This falls under the category of for better or for worse."

"In sickness and in health, too."

"Exactly, but not poorer. We'll never have to do poorer."

"Speak for yourself, rich boy. Trying to keep up with your hoity-toity ways is depleting my bank account."

"Then you can dip into mine. As much as you want. Forever. Hey, where are you going?"

Alicia was climbing off the bed. "I'm getting the record player. If we're going to be up all night, we should find something better than opera to listen to."

Once her back was turned, Adrian grimaced. Long night, indeed.

oOo

"Do you think Bobby's sorta cute?" Roxy whispered.

In the distance, the tower clock bonged eleven times and covered Mol's gurgle of disgust. The three girls—Roxy, Mol, and Dom—had pushed their camp beds together in the unused classroom they were temporarily calling home. Moonlight crept through the gap in the curtains and Priscilla Boxwood was snoring. Roxy thought six more years of Priscilla might drive her to violence.

"Have you run mad?" Mol demanded.

"Sh." Dom stretched her long limbs and pulled the quilt up to her chin. "I don't know him as well as you two, but _Maman_ would say he is _tr__e__s beau."_

Mol crossed her arms, staring up at the ceiling. "Bobby Wood is the worst, the absolute worst. The troll must have bashed you over the head."

Roxy, rolling her eyes, exchanged a smile with Dom. "He was really brave today and, I don't know, red is a nice color on him."

"I thought you were of the opinion that all boys are stupid?" Dom said.

"I am."

Roxy thought this over. When she woke up that morning, she'd been quite certain boys were idiots and she decided this was still true. But, perhaps, some boys were nice to look at even if they were still gits. Besides, Mol had a point—Bobby really could be the worst, and he was going to be her Quidditch Captain someday. If they ever played Quidditch at Hogwarts again. She frowned. That thought shoved Bobby out of her mind.

Professor Longbottom had allowed Roxy to Floo her parents earlier. She'd told Freddie running from a troll and hiding in the changing rooms was a great adventure, omitting the part where she cried. It wasn't a lie. In her mind, she was already turning the terror into excitement, but what if they never repaired the Quidditch pitch. Why come to Hogwarts at all if she couldn't play Quidditch?

Beside her, Dom rolled onto her side and threw her arm over Roxy. Within seconds, Dom would be sleeping beautifully—she did everything beautifully. However, it was the ease with which Dom fell asleep Roxy envied. Her mind was spinning with images of a Quidditch-less Hogwarts. Did they play Quidditch in America, or was it all Quodpot? Why did Americans always have to make up their own games? Sure, the rest of the world was quite happy with Quidditch, but not America. No, they needed twice as many players on the pitch and an exploding Quaffle.

"Tell me you are not thinking about bloody Bobby," Mol hissed.

"What? No!"

"Shhhhh!"

Several nasty looks were tossed Roxy's way. Heat climbed into her cheeks.

"No," she whispered. "Do you think they'll rebuild the Quidditch pitch?"

"Of course," Mol said. "The Woods will rebuild it themselves if Professor McGonagall isn't quick about it."

Roxy blew out a breath. She thought she might lend a hand if it came to it. Mum constantly warned Roxy not to look too keen, but she could never contain her passions. She loved Quidditch. She loved flying. The thought of never playing for the Gryffindor team was absolutely dismal.

"Will you be able to sleep?" Mol asked.

Roxy stared at Mol for a long time, finally asking, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you were almost killed by a troll today."

"I was more likely to be crushed to death in a cave in, actually."

"Oh. Well, no big deal then."

"It wasn't until you mentioned it." Roxy glared at Mol. "Worry wart."

"One of us has to." Mol tucked her red curls behind her ear. "Actually, it was pretty scary when the wall got bashed in. I was still in the dorm and the whole thing shook. I thought…only for a moment…but I thought, maybe, the tower might collapse."

"So." Roxy's limbs were not as long as Dom's, but she rolled onto her side and flung her arm over Mol anyway. It landed on Mol's shoulder, but it would have to do. "You're saying we both almost died in a cave in today?"

Mol rolled her eyes. "Yes, I reckon I am."

"Freddie and Jamie will never have a story that cool."

"Fine!" Mol pulled a face. "But you know where to find me if you have nightmares."

"Back at you."

Roxy yawned first. The girls' fingers intertwined, Priscilla's snores the only sound in the classroom. Well, in the end, this Saturday hadn't been like any other. Roxy was just glad to have survived it, hopefully to play Quidditch again.


End file.
